I don’t read books. I read chapters.

I don’t measure my progress by how many books I’ve finished.

I measure it by how many books I’ve started.

I measure progress by:

• how many margin notes I make,

• how many new ideas I bump into,

• how many chapters stop me cold,

• how many new questions it plants in my mind.

I don’t speed-read. I slow-read.

I pause. I underline. I reread the same paragraph five times.

Deliberately. By design.

That’s the good stuff.

The slower I go, the richer it tastes.

The slower I read, the deeper the imprint.

The deeper I internalize the story - and the more clearly I can see the big picture.

Slow is richer.

Slow makes it stick.

Slow pays off.

Because I’m not reading to finish.

I’m reading to absorb.

To let a book sit with me.

To let one sentence rewire my entire mental model.

Some books, I just dip a finger in — just enough to check the temperature, scan a few pages, feel the vibe.

Others, I cannonball in — loud, messy, splash around, let the shock and color hit me all at once.

Then, there are the snorkel reads — I float along the surface, peek at the coral, maybe chase a fish or two (looking at the index).

And a few rare ones? I bring the oxygen tank and go all the way down — line by line, breath by breath.

Because not every book deserves the same depth.

Some give you what you need in a paragraph.

Others take you apart and rebuild how you think - but only if I stay under long enough.

This is why I no longer obsess over “finishing” books.

The point isn’t to get to the last page.

It’s to extract something alive from the time I spent with it.

Unread doesn’t mean wasted.

Unfinished doesn’t mean failed.

It means I’ve taken what I needed — for now.

Reading, for me, isn’t about consumption.

It’s not a race. It’s not a chore.

It’s a craft. A slow, deliberate, high-yield craft.

This is Part 1 of 3: The Impossible Game of Reading.